Karen Hyde
by Botosphere
Summary: A year and a half after meeting her hero Ironhide, attorney Raquel Gutierrez-Ramon goes through her worst summer ever, but an unlikely friend in the guise of an intern helps her through. Sequel of sorts to Introductions:Raquel.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I began this fic a long time ago, but when luinrina agreed to a fic trade (she wrote "Mother Loki" for me), she requested that this be my contribution. You have her to thank for this getting bumped to the front of my story queue. :) And for the record, even though Raquel doesn't learn about holoforms in this story, "Karen Hyde" is an alias everyone should be able to recognize, even if it's not the holoform gender you're used to seeing.

Also, for the curious, my muse is only mostly dead and she seems to be reviving little by little. I've resumed work on the final _Kinship_ installment, but I need to finish the next story arc for _Introductions: Annabelle Lennox _before I can launch into the final story of the trilogy.

(We haven't seen Age of Extinction yet, so right now we don't have any official statement about what influence – if any – it will have on our fanon.)

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

I morosely stared at my drink, doing my best to ignore the intoxicated couple on the couch who were obviously going to get lucky in the next hour or two. Coming to this party had been a bad idea – I'd known it from the start – but when my law firm partner decided to celebrate her twentieth wedding anniversary with a virtual who's who of Mission City, I couldn't very well sit at home by myself. Besides, I flat-out refused to be the broken-hearted spinster of a divorcee. So with head held high, I'd forced myself to go out for my night of socializing, but it was only a week after officially cutting the knot, so I couldn't quite bring myself to _enjoy_ tonight. Turning my back on the couple with the wandering hands, I sighed and tried to calculate how much longer I had to stay before it would be polite to congratulate my friend and leave.

"…alien robots?"

The snippet of conversation instantly caught my attention, and I lifted my head, trying to figure out who was talking about my formerly-favorite topic. I'd shut down my alien robot fangirl website a little over a year and a half ago, and it was that act that had begun the implosion of my marriage. David couldn't understand why I grieved the loss of that site the way I would grieve losing a sister, and he _especially _didn't like that I _wouldn't _tell him why I took it down in the first place. For his safety and national security, I couldn't explain that I'd actually _met _my alien robot hero, the BBB otherwise known as Ironhide, and that he'd asked me to shut down the site as a personal favor.

"Sure, everyone knows they're robots, but why _alien_? Sounds total crackpot to me." It was Judge Ketch who was speaking with a middle-aged woman with jet-black hair (obviously dyed) I didn't recognize. Having nothing better to do, I drifted over.

The unfamiliar woman crossed her arms and delicately huffed. "You honestly think humans capable of building robots like that?" Her voice was a surprisingly low alto.

"Even allowing that they're more advanced than anything publicly known, it doesn't necessarily follow that they're aliens," Ketch retorted. "If you're going to grasp as sci-fi straws, they could just as well be from the future."

She was baiting the woman, I could tell, and I stepped in before the stranger could get too embroiled in a fight with the judge. Ketch loved nothing better than a rousing argument. "But that's assuming they're robots," I interjected. "If you're going by what's publicly known, the events two years ago were terrorist attacks. But I don't believe we've met," I added, turning to the stranger.

Ketch threw me a sly smile – she knew I was rescuing the hapless black-haired woman. "Raquel, good to see you here. This is Karen Hyde. I've just made her acquaintance tonight."

I extended my hand, noticing how strikingly blue her eyes were. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Hyde. I'm Raquel Gutierrez."

"Are you also a judge, Ms. Gutierrez?" she asked.

I chuckled. "No, I'm a lawyer focusing on criminal defense. And please, call me Raquel." Glancing at our fellow partygoers, I asked, "How do you know my partner Mariana?"

"Oh, I don't actually know her," Karen answered. "My nephew attends the same university as her daughter, and she got me invited to this. I'm just a legal assistant looking to relocate here…"

Judge Ketch was hailed by Emerson, one of the city's prosecutors, and she bobbed her head once to us before wandering off.

"Really?" I politely asked.

Karen smiled self-deprecatingly. "Well, I've got a BA in Paralegal Studies, but I haven't actually worked in the field yet. I'm hoping to find an internship or something here, since the alien robots are something of a hobby of mine."

That caught my interest. "And you're so sure they're aliens?"

She shrugged. "I've read every imaginable argument online, and the only one that makes sense to me is aliens. Humans wouldn't have programmed them to be both bad and good, and time travel isn't sci-fi; it's fantasy. By far, the most reasonable explanation is that they're sentient aliens."

"Hmm." I sipped my drink, wondering about this Karen Hyde. Even here in Mission City, it wasn't common to find someone so nonchalant while talking about aliens being on Earth. Either they were emphatic nut-jobs or mourners or reporters looking for a good sound bite.

Filling my expectant silence, she continued, "My favorite site was taken down a year and a half back, but they made the best case for sentient alien robots that I've ever seen. I wish I knew what happened to that site. One day it was up and the next it was gone with just an apology from MyBBB but no explanation."

I almost dropped my drink. "What?"

"Yeah," Ms. Hyde enthusiastically said. "I think she got shut down by the government because she was too close to the truth."

"Did you have a user account?"

"No. I was a little more casual about it than that. Why?"

In a low voice, I said, "I'm MyBBB."

Those striking blue eyes widened. "Really?" Karen's hand briefly touched my arm. "I'm so glad to meet you and to know that you're safe! I was worried that some government thug had dragged you off somewhere."

I couldn't help a sly smile at that. Major Lennox was hardly a government thug, but he and Ironhide _had _kidnapped me and hauled me off to a military base before giving me the evening of my dreams with my favorite alien robot. "Nope. Still here."

"Wow!"

"Here." Impulsively, I opened my clutch and gave her a business card. "Call me on Monday morning, and we'll work out a paid internship for you." With a wink, I added, "We BBB fangirls gotta stick together."

"And you're still a fan?" Karen asked, her expression almost intense. "You did take down your site, after all."

I nodded, tears glistening in my eyes as I remembered watching Ironhide showing off on the bombing range. "More than ever."

…

Karen Hyde called me Monday morning, and by noon we had a deal worked out. She met me for lunch at a bagel shop nearby, signed the internship contract, and came back to my office with me. I introduced her to my secretary Carmen and my paralegal Mitch and then put her to work. "We'll start you out simple," I said, opening a client's folder on my computer. (She was temporarily using my desk computer and I was using my laptop to work.) "I just got the police report on this DUI. Catalog it and then let me know when you're done."

"Catalog," Karen uncertainly repeated.

I gave her a curious look. "You know, record all the dates, times, who, what, where, when…"

She frowned at the computer, and I pointed at the right file. "Open the database and just start filling in the information."

"Ah," she said as the light turned on for her. "I understand now."

_Newbie_, I thought with a smothered grin. We'd all been there once, though I would have expected her to have at least cataloged a case or two while in college. Oh well. It wasn't like paralegals had the same rigorous educational requirements that attorneys did. As long as she could do the work, it didn't matter.

I sat down to review a petition Mitch had drafted for me, but Karen interrupted me only a quarter of the way through.

"I'm done," she said.

"Already?"

She nodded brusquely, and I read over her shoulder, clicking on a few of the entries. "It looks right," I told her. "Everyone has contact information, all the events have timestamps…the issues are a bit thin, though. Probable cause is going to be their weak spot on this – even if our client _was _drunk as a skunk, the cop had no reason to pull him over in the first place."

"Skunks get drunk?" she asked, her expression one of perfectly innocent confusion.

I chuckled, "Silly turn of phrase, I know. I guess the more lawyer-y term would be 'in excess of the legal blood alcohol limit.'"

"But he's guilty," Karen firmly said.

"Ah, but that's the beauty of our Constitution," I wryly answered, leaning against the desk and crossing my arms. "It was written by a bunch of criminals. Traitors to the Crown, no less."

Her brow furrowed and her gaze grew distant, no doubt puzzling over what I was saying. Most people outside of the law didn't understand this, though I would have expected Karen to know. "The government has resources at its disposal that no private individual could hope to have. Our Founding Fathers understood that and so there has to be a damn good reason for the government to take a look at anybody's private affairs. In this case, the cop didn't even have a good excuse, much less a damn good reason."

"But he's guilty," she repeated.

I sighed. "You should already know this, Karen. The judiciary is an adversarial system. The prosecution's responsibility is to make the best possible argument that our client is guilty as sin. Our responsibility is to make the best argument possible that the prosecution is wrong. We don't have to _prove_ anything – all we have to do is show that the prosecution can't prove what they need to."

"But he's –"

"That's not for you to decide," I sharply told her. "Are you the judge? The jury? The finder of fact?"

She sat up ramrod straight and gave me an appraising look. "No ma'am."

I half-laughed. She said it like she was used to adding a salute in there somewhere. "At ease, Karen. My point is he's _not _guilty until the prosecution proves he is. And the cops cheated to get the evidence of our client's intoxication. If law enforcement doesn't play by the rules, why should any of the rest of us? Since they didn't have a damn good reason to pull our client over to begin with, then our legal system isn't going to reward them for breaking the rules. All the evidence improperly collected gets tossed out. Without that evidence, the prosecution can't prove our client guilty. It doesn't mean he's innocent," I added, before Karen could protest again. "It just means they can't _prove_ anything."

She frowned thoughtfully, looking at the screen again.

"Make sense?"

Karen huffed. "More than I expected it to. Reminds me of a pair of twins I know."

I lightly clapped her on the shoulder. "Read through the police reports again and look for anything that could be useful in undermining the prosecution's arguments. Oh, but first look up the statutory definition of 'driving under the influence' so you know exactly which elements they have to prove."

"I feel like I'm venturing into enemy territory," she muttered.

"Used to being on the other side of the equation?"

"Yes."

I chuckled as I returned to my seat and picked up my laptop. "Welcome to the Constitution's first line of defense."

…

What Karen lacked in experience she more than made up for with a wicked-fast typing speed and a memory even sharper than mine. After a couple of weeks, she still needed help picking out the issues, but once they were defined for her, she could tear apart the prosecution like a pro.

And legal research! The woman was amazing – I could tell her, "find me a case that supports argument x" and she'd be back a half-hour later with three state cases plus one or two on the federal level, all of them double-checked to make sure they hadn't been overturned. Mariana wanted to steal her from me, but I jealously guarded my newfound research super-weapon.

She had other quirks, though. Traditionally, the interns were given break-room duty, but Karen couldn't make a decent cup of coffee if her life depended on it.

"No, no, no!" I overheard Mitch scolding her sometime during her third week. "You have to let it get to boiling first!"

"Fine," Karen had growled, sounding about ready to tear his head off. "_You_ make it." And she stomped – _stomped _– out of the break room grumbling, "It's not like I drink the slag anyway."

But she had her endearing qualities, too. She was no-nonsense and exuded a confidence that was more reassuring than intimidating. Like when Carmen had, in a moment of womanly camaraderie, told Karen, "You know, no one is going to take you seriously in court dressed like that."

"Like what?" she had demanded.

"Like a Goth," Mariana had supplied as she walked past.

"Men can get away with black on black, but it's too severe for a woman," Carmen gently continued. "You need a little color to break it up."

"Maybe try a skirt," I suggested.

"I. Don't. Do. Skirts."

"A nice, conservative navy blue power suit, then," I placatingly said. "But not red – or at least – only use it sparingly. Same thing with pink – only a little bit, and avoid anything overtly girly. Cute doesn't belong in the courtroom."

"And your shoes," Carmen added. "You're under-dressed if your heels are less than three inches tall."

Karen looked down over her black sweater and black slacks to her black loafers and then back up at me. "Guess it's a good thing I'll never appear in court." And then she'd easily strolled away.

Comfortable in her own skin – that was Karen.

But the thing that really sparked our friendship was our mutual obsession with kick-butt alien robots. We never talked about it at work, but three days after she started at my office, we went out to dinner together at my favorite sushi bar.

As soon as we were settled into a quiet booth, Karen eagerly leaned closer. "So. Alien robots."

I gave her a quick glance while dipping my California roll. "What about them?"

"What about them!" Karen sputtered as I took a bite. "Everything! It's been months since your site was shut down. I haven't heard a good theory on what their homeworld is like or how to palm-read a metal hand in all that time."

I choked on both a giggle and my mouthful of sushi. After a couple of coughs and a long drag on my diet Coke, I said, "I'd forgotten about that thread. What I wouldn't give to see ShinyBlackArmor actually try to read BBB's palm!"

"What do you think the fortune would say?"

"Hm…" After meeting Ironhide for that one spectacular evening, thinking about reading his palm had a whole new dimension. I dredged up memories of ShinyBlackArmor's theories and explanations of how to read palms and forged ahead. "I'd say that he has fire hands. Square palm and short fingers, with a short fuse and fierce leadership skills."

Karen Hyde leaned back in her chair and smirked as she crossed her arms. "I'd say you're off to a good start."

Encouraged, I said, "I think he'd have a straight love line – very practical and straight-forward when it comes to his…" I almost said "mate" but caught myself just in time. "When it comes to his love life," I corrected. "I bet he'd have a straight head line, too. No-nonsense, plough forward and blast the bad guys into scrap."

My friend smirked a little and nodded in agreement, and I continued, "He'd have a deep, curving life line, though. Who knows how long those guys live!"

Karen snorted. "Yeah, and he'd probably have so many loops on it that his palm would look like a kaleidoscope."

"No way," I protested. "A robot with _his_ fighting skills? He'd never get injured."

Her eyes sparkled and she shook her head almost condescendingly. "He charges right into the thick of things, though."

Huh. I'd never thought about him actually getting _hurt_. Although Karen was right. If there was an enemy to fight, Ironhide would be there with both cannons blazing even if he _was _injured.

As I reached for another slice of sushi, I asked, "What about his friends? What do you think Search and Rescue's fortune would say?"

Karen chortled almost evilly and then regaled me with her theories on first S&R and then Flaming Semi as I finished my roll.

I hadn't realized until that night just how much I missed the discussion boards on my website, how much I missed the shared enthusiasm and a second opinion. Once we'd speculated on the palms of all of Ironhide's friends, we drifted into other hot topics from the site. Karen had all kinds of wild ideas that had the both of us laughing – like what the 'bots must think of our weird way of 'fueling up' and our primitive technology. After that evening, we met for dinner together once a week. Karen jokingly called it the traveling BBB fan club, although she made it a prerequisite that we go someplace that served either steak or pizza because she couldn't stand sushi.

That friendship really deepened about a month after Karen started her internship. It wasn't until I booted up my laptop and checked my calendar that I saw what day it was: June 23rd. Eight years ago, to the day, I married David. It was my first anniversary since the divorce. Sudden tears blurred my vision and I couldn't see my appointments.

_This can't be happening_, a part of me wailed. I can't be divorced. I can't miss these appointments today. I can't grieve. I can't move on.

I swiped a tissue from the box on my desk and dabbed at the tears for a second. I should have known better than to stop wearing waterproof mascara.

"Raquel?" Karen's low, urgent voice made flinch, and she was instantly at my side. "Are you injured? What happened?"

"I got divorced," I finally managed. "That's all. It's kind of hitting home today."

"You're severed from your…spouse? When did this happen?"

"It was finalized a few weeks ago. But I can't have a breakdown today, even if it is my old anniversary. We've got the pre-trial conference on the Santiago case later this morning and we just got almost a hundred pages of evidence back from the prosecution on the Ford case." But I was starting to hyperventilate.

Karen turned my chair away from the desk and knelt in front of me, placing steadying hands on my shoulders. "Look at me Raquel."

I blinked at the tears, trying to focus.

"Look at me," she ordered, and I finally met her gaze.

Her piercing blue eyes bore right into my soul. "You are stronger than this. There are people who are fighting for their rights, their freedom. Whatever you're feeling right now is insignificant compared to what's riding on today. Later, this weekend, you can grieve, but you've got a battle to fight first. You are the champion for these accused men and women. Right here, right now, you're needed. Understand?"

Looking down, I nodded, feeling like a six-year-old.

"Understand?" she barked, and I mumbled, "Understand."

"Good," she huffed before rising to her feet. "I'll take care of cataloging the Ford documents – they'll be ready for your review when you get back. Now go get ready." Then turning on her loafer heel, she strode out of the room.

I had pulled myself together more or less by the time Karen returned with a cup of coffee for me. "Thanks," I quietly said.

I could _feel_ that she was frowning at my mousy answer, but I was just getting myself emotionally pieced back together, and I wasn't going to jinx that by arguing with her. After a minute or so, she returned to her computer and got to work.

Karen's little pep-talk kept me emotionally grounded all the way through the pre-trial conference and back to the law firm. Plopping into my office chair, I stared blankly at the computer screen for a minute, steadying myself again. Karen ruined that, though, when she pushed her way through my door with three grocery bags in her hands. I sat up straighter as she spilled their contents onto my desk – boxes of cupcakes and brownies, fudge, fruit pies, and every kind of cookie imaginable. And inexplicably, a bag of jerky.

Baffled, I looked up at her, and she blushed a little. "My sister Sarah always makes comfort food when people are upset, but I can't bake, so here!"

I blinked away tears as I looked at my calorie-laden, coronary-in-the-making desk and then back up at Karen. "Comfort food?"

"Didn't know what you liked," she defensively grumbled. "So I got a little of everything. Be more specific next time."

I just stared at her, dumbfounded, until she said, "And Alyssa Ford says she can make it in Thursday afternoon. Her documents have been cataloged, so should I schedule her?"

"Yeah," I managed, pulling myself together again. Weekend. That's when I could deal with all this. I just had to make it through until then. As she left, I finally said, "Thank you, Karen."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: This chapter makes reference to Chapter 8 of The Daily Buzz, for those who might be curious. Hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

Alyssa Ford was one of my more colorful clients. She was a local stay-at-home mother of three who was arrested for disorderly conduct and assaulting a police officer while lobbying for a "shoot on sight" bill for drug dealers in school zones. We'd met briefly when I first accepted her case, but after she posted bail, she'd only been in contact with my office staff until today, two days before her hearing. She was underdressed; I made a mental note to explain the court dress code to her before we were done with today's interview.

I greeted her with outstretched hand, and she gave it a firm shake. "Hello, I'm Raquel Gutierrez, and this is my paralegal, Karen Hyde."

My client bobbed her head in greeting. "Yeah. Good to put a name with the face. Thanks for your help."

"Don't thank me. I just work here."

I stared in disbelief at Karen. She'd taken a few liberties with us, but giving an attitude like that to a _client_ was just plain unprofessional. "Karen means to say that it's all in a day's work," I cheerfully covered. Karen glared at me but managed to bite her tongue. "Won't you have a seat? Karen's going to..." I made a show of shuffling through the papers in her case file. "I'm sorry, I think we're missing a document. Please excuse us for a moment."

As soon as I closed the door behind us, I hissed at her, "What is your problem?"

"I don't like her."

"You've never met her before today! Was she giving you grief via email?"

"No, but she's a Decept...ive woman. She's a fangirl of the other robots."

"A fangirl?"

Karen nodded solemnly. "_The_ fangirl, actually, the soccer-mom-from-hell who claims that her robot is the original BBB. Her site is still up and running. I found out while I was doing case research."

"Case research?" I doubtfully echoed, but Karen's face was an impassive mask.

I sighed, frustrated, and answered, "It doesn't matter. She's hired us to defend her, and while I probably wouldn't have taken the case if I knew about her site, it's not exactly a conflict of interest."

"What do you mean, not a conflict of interest?!"

I ignored Karen's outburst, firmly stating, "She's our client until she decides otherwise. Deal with it. _Professionally_."

Karen huffed but nodded in agreement, and I returned to the conference room. After rifling through the papers one more time, I said, "Here it is! We can begin now. So, first we'd better discuss your plea options. In this case, I'd recommend you plead not…"

"Guilty," Alyssa interrupted. "Guilty as sin. I stood my ground and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

I was too experienced to give in to the exasperated sigh I wanted to exhale. "Okay, I can appreciate your honesty, but you need to understand that a plea is a legal statement, not a moral one. Saying "not guilty" isn't saying you didn't commit the alleged crime; it's saying they don't have enough evidence to prove it."

"I decked that cop," she declared.

"Did he have any bruises? Black eye?" I asked, wondering if Karen had missed something.

"Well… he ducked."

"So, no bodily injury."

"The one holding me kind of tripped when I fought them putting on my handcuffs."

"No video?" I pressed.

"Dashcam was pointed the wrong way," she admitted, crestfallen.

"So it boils down to your word against theirs. They have no proof."

"But I'm guilty!"

"Alyssa…"

"No, listen, I know I'm not alone on this. People are just complacent, but if they see one person stand up for what's right, then they'll have more courage to take a stand the next time. The world is full of fence-sitters who just need a call to arms!"

I spent the next hour trying to talk her down from her crusade and into a plea of "not guilty." She wouldn't give in to me on that one, but we eventually compromised on a plea of "no contest." At that point, we'd been in conference for more than two hours and I was beginning to think that Karen had the right idea about this nutcase. Even after spending so much time working in criminal defense, there were some people who managed to surprise me. Of course, it probably didn't help my impression of her that I knew this woman's attitude toward Ironhide and his alien robot buddies.

"Thoughts?" Karen asked as we watched Alyssa leave through the front door.

"I need two Tylenol. You?"

"I need a drink," she rumbled in answer, giving me a sidelong look, "…almost as badly as you do. I think we need an emergency fanclub meeting tonight."

I half-smiled in answer. "I could go for that. Got anyplace specific in mind?"

"It's karaoke night at a bar and grill near my apartment. Could be fun."

I nodded. "Seven o'clock."

…

Karen was already at the grill when I arrived. "I ordered an appetizer sampler," she said as I slid into the booth opposite her. "Hope you don't mind."

"Naw, I should have _something_ in my stomach before I try to drink myself into oblivion."

"That Ford woman wasn't _that_ bad."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "You're the one who said she needed to get drunk after being locking in a confined space with her for almost three hours."

"I said I needed _a _drink, a single one. The karaoke is to have something more ridiculous than her to laugh at."

Familiar strains came from the speakers across the room, and my heart froze. Karen must have noticed my stricken expression because she asked, "What?" and then looked around the room as if expecting an assassin or something.

"It's our song," I breathed. "Mine and my ex's."

She relaxed slightly but didn't offer any opinion.

"_Would you dance if I asked you to dance,_" the singer crooned and I whirled in true horror this time. There, holding the microphone as if he really were Enrique Iglesias, was my ex-husband David. And he was looking straight at me.

I turned around and, for a split second, wished that Karen was a man and I was here on an actual date instead of a pathetic drown-my-sorrows girls' night out. "I'm out of here," I blurted and started sliding out of the booth bench.

Karen caught my arm in a surprisingly firm grip and didn't let me go. "Why?"

"Because that's my ex, singing _our _song, trying to win me back."

"It was his idea to sever your bo…marriage vow, wasn't it?"

I blinked for a second in the face of her odd wording. "He's the one who filed for divorce, yes."

"So don't let him have control over this, too."

It made a certain, belligerent kind of sense – the kind I would expect from Karen. "I…I'm not up to this right now." The very _last _thing I wanted to do right now was break down in front of my paralegal. Not to mention David.

"Up to what? Ignore him. Or throw napkins at him. Or something heavier, if you're feeling adventurous." She waggled her eyebrows at me like she was just spoiling for the heavier artillery. "_Him _be your hero?" She snorted in derision.

I rolled my eyes. "Karen, when he's done, he's going to come over here and ask me what I thought of the song and probably ask me to dance and what am I going to say?"

"Shove off? Shove it up your…" I gave her a dirty look and she trailed off into a grin. "You don't need to run, Raquel. You've got grit – I've seen it. You can handle this."

I swallowed hard and slouched back into my seat. "When have I ever shown you grit?" I demanded.

In answer, she just grinned all the wider.

During the song's interlude, our appetizers came, and I ordered a turkey club sandwich and a beer.

"_I just want to hold you…_"

I ran my hands over my face once before glaring at Karen. "We'll get kicked out if I start throwing things."

"Have you ever seen the video for this song?" she said conversationally. "It's stupid."

"Not as bad as the one for 'Total Eclipse of the Heart,'" I pointed out. But talking about the old song reminded me of my first break-up way back in high school and another song that helped me through it. Did I dare, though? I wasn't exactly good at singing.

The speakers played the final strains of the song and David set down the microphone before making a beeline for our table.

"Shoot me now," I muttered under my breath.

"So…" he awkwardly began.

"So."

Karen defiantly crossed her arms and said nothing leaving me to my own devices. Traitor.

"Imagine meeting you here," I said at the same time he blurted out, "What do you think?"

We both blinked at each other for a moment – him expectantly and me trying to process what he'd asked.

If I spoke what I'd thought, it would probably lead to a very public, very embarrassing fight. Looking around, I said, "I think it's a pretty decent place." Glancing at Karen, I said, "Great choice." Unfortunately, I wasn't quite able to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"I'm David, by the way," he said, extending a smile and a hand in greeting to Karen before I could warn him against barking up that tree.

Her frown deepened and she answered, "I know."

Untouched, his hand fell to his side.

"So…can I buy you ladies a round?"

"No," Karen retorted. "Thank you, but no," I added, trying to make things a little more cordial.

David nodded to himself and, turning on his heel, walked off.

It was hard to watch him go, and if Karen hadn't been radiating disapproval, I might have been tempted to let him buy me a drink and salvage _something_. I wasn't going to take him back, but he had been my best friend once upon a time and a part of me still missed that.

Our meals arrived halfway through the next song. We ate in silence that would have been awkward with anyone except Karen. When I finished my beer, I ordered another one and then started to rise to my feet but Karen caught my arm again.

"I've got a better idea than matching misdemeanors for disorderly conduct," I explained. "You might want to plug your ears though. I wouldn't blame you."

Heart pounding, I marched up to the karaoke machine and praised whatever deity watched over divorcees because the song I wanted was there. To answer his crooning, I sang, "At first I was afraid/I was petrified/Kept thinking I could never live/without you by my side…"

When I got to the line, "And now you're back/from outer space," Karen gave me an odd look and then studied David much more closely than before. The distraction made me lose my place, but I jumped back in a couple of lines later and then belted out the chorus. "Oh no, not I/I will survive!"

Karen applauded with gusto when I finished, and as I took my seat, she even raised her beer in a toast. I touched my now-full glass to hers and grinned, feeling better than I had since before the fiasco with Alyssa Ford.

The high lasted for all of three minutes because David was at the microphone again as soon as the duo that followed me finished.

As he started up, Karen wadded her napkin into a tight ball and prepared to throw it at him. I caught her wrist just in time. "No."

She frowned and grumbled something under her breath about not being any fun. It just wasn't worth a misdemeanor. The words to David's song broke through, then. "Take your records, take your freedom/Take your memories, I don't need'em/Take your space and take your reasons/But you'll think of me."

I remembered sobbing on our anniversary, remembered all the fights we had over Ironhide (or rather, over all the things I _couldn't _tell him about Ironhide). Yes, I'd made appeals for space. Yes, I had good reasons – reasons I was not at liberty to share with my husband. The lyrics stung as they hit home.

I discretely wiped a tear from my eye, only to have my hand caught by Karen. Her expression was intent…angry almost. "I'll wipe the floor with him," she growled, and for a surreal second, I honestly believed she could. Then I shook my head. "He's not worth it."

Yes, I thought about David. But so what? It's not like that fact _changed_ anything. And that thought inspired me yet again. I ordered another glass of courage and nursed it through the rest of his song. Karen studied me closely before slowly nodding in approval.

I rose to my feet and all but marched to the screen to select the song I was quite certain would be there. Even though it was written a bit high for my voice, I did my best. "I guess I just lost my husband/I don't know where he went…" It felt good, so much better than I'd expected, to all but shout the words, "So what? I'm still a rockstar, I've got my rock moves, and I don't need you!"

As I stepped away from the microphone, I decided it was time to head home – nothing was going to top that, and I didn't want to stick around for whatever song David would try to use as a brilliant come-back. Grinning triumphantly, I told Karen, "Let's go."

She seemed to understand and gave me a fist-bump before dropping some cash on the table and standing up to join me. "Nice way to end the night."

"Exactly." We walked out into the hot Mission City evening. "In fact, I'd say it was just about perfect."

I wobbled as I stepped off a curb, though, and the heel on my left shoe snapped. Karen caught me and I started laughing. Wasn't I just the picture of grace?

"Raquel," David said from behind me, and I hobbled along faster.

Karen turned and I urgently said, "Not worth it!"

I hadn't made it across the street before tears were streaming down my face, and I came crashing down from the high of the night.

"You okay?" she wondered.

Shaking my head, I said, "I don't know. I _think _so." I couldn't make sense of my feelings.

She made an unhappy rumble deep in her chest that for one wild second reminded me of Ironhide. I must have been tipsier than I realized.

"Let me drive you home," she offered, steering me around the corner. There, tucked away in a small, private parking lot, was a massive white Topkick. "You drive one, too?" I asked, my voice embarrassingly rough with emotion.

"Wouldn't have anything else," she muttered.

"It's the wrong color," I observed as I hobbled closer.

She just gave me an appraising look, probably wondering just how drunk I could get off of two beers. Or had it been three? My head was starting to hurt from the crying.

"Up you get," she said as she helped me into the seat.

I dug a tissue out of my purse while Karen walked around to the driver's side, got in, and fired up the engine. We rode in silence, mostly because I didn't trust my voice and I was staring out the window to hide my tears. I'd won the war of words – so why this breakdown? I just couldn't wrap my mind around it.

We arrived at my house, and Karen again helped me out and to the door. "Get some rest," she ordered.

Yeah right. But I managed to pass out from exhaustion less than half an hour later.

The next morning, I awoke to three texts from David. I got through half of the first one and decided he wasn't paying me to be his therapist so I didn't owe it to him to finish.

I tried to piece together what he was rambling on about and remembered telling Karen that he wasn't worth getting in trouble over. It was the first time I'd said something like that about David, and I was genuinely surprised when I realized I meant it. _He _was the one who couldn't handle not knowing. He was the one who ended things. Karen of all people was the one who held me together on our anniversary. Remembering her little pep talk and the pile of food she'd dumped on my desk, I realized my _employee _had more compassion for and patience with me than my own spouse.

Former spouse.

Like a thunderbolt, I knew it in my bones. It was time to move on. _That _was what that weird breakdown was: goodbye. For the first time since David brought up the word divorce, I knew I could do this on my own.

Karen was already at work by the time I arrived, and she watched me warily as I entered the building.

I patted her reassuringly on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm fine. I just needed a good cry."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

She grunted once in acknowledgement and got back on task.

…

I never did end up going to Alyssa Ford's hearing. After spending those three grueling hours trying to talk some sense into her, she fired me a couple of weeks later. I got a terse email telling me that she'd found another lawyer and wouldn't need my services anymore. I observed a moment of silence for the poor man or woman who would have to put up with her and then went back about my day.

Karen came in about a half hour later. "I noticed the Ford case has been closed."

"Yes, she fired us and retained a different attorney."

She gave me a wistful grin. "Probably won't pay her bill, either, now that she's got another one."

"I'll happily take that hit. Want to celebrate tonight?"

"Yeah," she slowly nodded. "I think so." As an afterthought, she added, "No karaoke, though."

"Or alcohol," I muttered. "How 'bout we go out for steak?"

"I'm there," she agreed.

That evening I beat her to the restaurant and ordered a diet cola for myself while I waited. It was half gone by the time she showed up, but I forgave her when I saw the gift bag she was carrying.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, handing it to me, "but here."

I pulled the long, thin package out, tossing aside the tissue paper, and opened it to find the last thing I expected – a knife. It was a beautiful, lethal-looking blade with a bone handle and leather sheath and I just stared at it for a second, dumbfounded.

"Check the card," Karen mumbled, blushing.

In it I found a gift certificate for self-defense classes, leaving me even more baffled than before. Looking up, I blurted out, "David's not _that _much of a menace. He's not really a menace at all."

Karen snorted in agreement. "He's not. But some of your clients are iffy. That Ford woman, for instance…"

"Really?" I said, interrupting her. "I've dealt with far more unsavory characters than her."

"She's _dangerous_," Karen insisted, glowering at me. "Or at least, the robots she hero-worships are. I worry about you, Raquel. I about had a heart attack when I found out she was one of your clients and I'm more glad than you know that she's out of your life now."

I half-laughed. "Well, thank you. I'll take the self-defense class, and between the two of us, no rabid robot fangirl of any stripe will stand a chance."

Karen looked down, frowning, and I tilted my head. "What?"

"There's something I have to tell you, and I don't think you're going to like it."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I have to give you my resignation."

Her words knocked the wind out of me.

"It's my brother-in-law," she continued. "His wife died and he's really struggling. Gets himself into trouble all the time without someone to watch his back."

"Oh, Karen, I'm so sorry."

She shrugged, still avoiding my gaze.

"Can't he come here?" I blurted out. "A new town, a new life – maybe a fresh start would do him some good?"

"Naw, that stubborn old f…fellow wouldn't relocate. There are other considerations that keep him where he's at, too. Confidential stuff, though."

I nodded in understanding. "Of course."

"So…" she cleared her throat. "Consider this my two-week notice."

I stared slack-jawed at her for a moment as it slowly sunk in that she was leaving. I'd come to rely on her – her skills, her steadying influence, her shared interest in Ironhide and his friends. "I hate to lose you."

She finally looked up, determination sparkling in her eyes. "You won't, not really. I promise you that. I'll keep in touch. There's Facebook, and at least until I land a new job, I could do some work for you on a contract basis."

I sighed. "It won't be the same, but it'll have to do, I guess."

She nodded once just as the waiter, with impeccable timing, approached our table to take our orders. I hastily placed the lid back on the gift box that held my new knife and hid it in the gift bag. I couldn't imagine a time or place where I would use it, but it was a gift from someone I considered one of my best friends.

We placed our orders and after the waiter left, I said, "Thank you. For the knife. It's…thoughtful." In a slightly creepy kind of way.

"Would have gotten you a gun, but there are too many restrictions on that," she mumbled, looking down at the table. Raising her gaze to mine, she said, "_Promise _me you'll take the self-defense course, though. A weapon without training is worse than useless."

I solemnly nodded my head. "I promise."

Two weeks later Karen cleared off her desk and walked out my office door. She did end up doing some contract research memos for me from time to time, but while I did friend her on Facebook, I never saw her again – not in that guise, anyway. But that's a different story.

* * *

Author's End Note: No, really, it's a different story (titled "Reunion," also up and running on our profile). :)


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